


The Dame and The Dog

by The_Anglophile



Category: David Bowie (Musician)
Genre: Bowie/Bowie slash!, Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 18:24:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/726417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Anglophile/pseuds/The_Anglophile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On his way to bring some gifts to a friend who's under the weather, Zane makes a new acquaintance, a curious creature called Jack, who is rather like a dog.  If only Zane had heeded the warnings from his childhood that urged him not to talk to strangers, then perhaps he wouldn't have had to learn the lesson the hard way... </p>
<p>A fairy tale re-written.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dame and The Dog

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with David Bowie, and all likenesses and names of real persons are employed in a strictly fictional context.
> 
> A/N: Warnings appear at the end of the story.
> 
> One of my older fic, from 2006. Images of the characters: [Zane](http://bowiesongs.files.wordpress.com/2010/01/dbman1.jpg) and [Jack](http://homepage.ntlworld.com/ian.mcintosh/music/David_Bowie_-_Diamond_Dogs-front.jpg)

Zane smiled up at the sunny sky with its scattered clouds; the weather was making him feel warm, happy and a little silly. He brushed his long, blonde hair from his face and leant down to take a drink from a public fountain standing next to a building. As he drank he began to feel uneasy and through the curtain of his hair he glimpsed someone next to him on the pavement, watching him. Once he had finished drinking he stood up straight, wiping his mouth and turned to see who it could be.

A strange creature with the upper body of a human and the lower body of a dog was sitting up on his haunches looking at Zane. The creature had a bright red bush of hair and unnerving yellow eyes. "Hullo there, lovely," he said to Zane with a canine grin.

Zane was surprised and a little worried, but tried not to show it. He picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder before politely answering, "Hello."

The creature looked him over and then met his eyes again to ask, "And where are you off to today?"

A rather personal question for a stranger to be asking. Zane frowned slightly and said, "I might be more inclined to tell you if you were to introduce yourself first." He inclined his head expectantly.

The creature smiled and laughed. "Ever so cautious," he said, "Of course I'll introduce meself: I'm Jack, Jack the Dog." He extended a hand to Zane, who leaned down to shake it. "And what'll be _your_ name, luv?"

"I'm Zane," Zane said demurely, allowing his hair to fall over one of his eyes. He peered out from under this cover at Jack, trying to discern his intentions.

"A pretty name to fit the face," Jack commented before asking yet another question. "What have you got in that bag of yours?"

Zane lifted the bag and pulled a bottle halfway out to show Jack. "A bottle of wine for my friend. He's feeling a bit under the weather this week."

"Well then! I mustn't keep you," Jack said, "But might I accompany you along the way? I wouldn't want you to be all alone if you were to meet up with any scoundrels."

Zane half smiled. He was beginning to feel a bit flattered at the creature's attentions. He was in a teasing mood though. "And how am I to know that _you_ are not a scoundrel? You look a bit scruffy," he said sceptically, placing a hand on his hip and giving Jack a critical stare.

Jack feigned hurt. "Don't you know a pedigreed pooch when you see one? I can hardly bear the insult..." He turned away dramatically, a hand over his eyes.

Zane rolled his eyes and smiled. There couldn't be much harm in someone as charming as this. "Oh, come along then, my purebred prince. You may walk with me." He started off down the sidewalk in the direction of his friend's flat. Jack jumped at the invitation and rushed to catch up to Zane.

 

It was too easy. He'd spotted the pretty little chicken at a drinking fountain and stopped to try his luck. _This is really a sweet one_ , he'd thought to himself as he chatted the kid up. His luck held. He got a coy smile. Then he got what he really wanted: an invite. Soon enough he was following the swish-swish of the silken skirt that draped the slender frame; following the feet that would unknowingly lead him to an afternoon of fun. Fun for him, anyway.

 

Ken sniffed loudly and blew his nose. He was almost out of tissues. He leaned back against the pillows and pondered the call he'd received yesterday from Zane. He had asked his favourite flavour of wine. Ken wondered what that was about. _That boy is up to something..._ he thought to himself, taking a drink of water from the glass on the nightstand.

 

Zane and Jack walked along side by side, exchanging pleasantries about the weather and scenery and swapping general facts about each other. The canine asked Zane a lot of questions and he answered almost all of them. He found himself doing most of the talking, actually, but he didn’t mind too much because Jack was so attentive and polite. The questions didn’t strike Zane as being of the suspicious sort either, which did much to reassure him in regard to his new acquaintance. Perhaps the creature was simply naturally inquisitive.

“And what sort of work do you do?”

“I’m a singer, actually.”

“Oh. What kind of music?”

“Pop, though I’m more into folk these days.”

They’d been travelling but fifteen minutes when two greasy-looking toughs rounded a corner further down the block and began heading in their direction. He saw them look at him and whisper to each other. Zane could smell danger and said discreetly to Jack, “Let’s cross to the other side of the street.”

Jack shook his head. “No, it’ll be alright. Trust me.”

Zane glanced nervously ahead and then across the street again. “Are you sure?” he asked anxiously.

“Positive. Just stick close.”

Against his better judgement Zane decided to stick with Jack to see what would (or wouldn’t) happen. He tried not to look at the other men as they approached, but he was aware of their aggressive stares and he began to feel very tense. Just when he thought he’d have to make a run for it to avoid being jumped, a loud rumbling growl issued from Jack’s throat. Zane glanced down for a second and saw that the canine was keeping full eye contact with one of the men as he growled. Zane kept his own eyes pointed straight ahead and kept walking as quickly as he could. He only stopped to turn around when he’d reached the next street-corner. He saw Jack posted halfway between himself and the toughs, still watching them and growling. They glared back in Zane’s direction, but continued on their way when Jack held his ground. When he was sure they were gone for good, Jack came trotting quickly back to Zane’s side.

“Didn’t I tell ya you’d need me?” he said with a slightly smug smile.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Zane said sincerely. He ran into such trouble far too often for his liking, due to his choice of apparel, and had already made several narrow escapes. This was a welcome turn of events.

Problem past, the two continued on their walk.

 

Ken wondered if Zane might drop by that day. In any case he knew he’d have at least one visitor to entertain, since it was Thursday. Every Thursday, Hilda, the little German lady from downstairs would come up to his flat to share some of her homemade bratwurst or link sausages, usually in time for tea. He was afraid, though, that he’d have to turn her away today so she wouldn’t catch his cold. All this thinking tired his brain and he soon drifted off to sleep.

 

Jack’s display of loyalty put Zane off guard, and under a new barrage of questions he revealed a few things that he normally would have kept to himself under such circumstances.

“So, what’s your friend’s name?”

“Ken.”

He still didn’t think the questions to be of particular importance; the information seemed so general.

“What’s his line of work?”

“He’s in the music business as well. He was my manager, actually.”

“Hmm.”

They continued on their way, Zane leading and Jack following innocuously along, leaving a stream of questions in his wake.

 

Jack’s plan was going swimmingly. He’d built some trust and Zane had opened up to his quizzing. The lad hardly seemed suspicious of him at all, in fact. Jack saw a window of opportunity open when they reached a certain part of town, and he decided to go for a critical question. Perhaps he’d get lucky on this one, too.

 

“Where does this Ken of yours live, anyway?”

“Why?” Zane asked cautiously. Here was a worrisome query.

“Because I know of a wonderful florist’s shop where you could get some beautiful flowers for your friend. Flowers always cheer a person up, huh? I just thought it might be too out of the way.”

Zane relaxed. “He lives on Trellis Street. Is it far from there?”

“It’s quite close actually! What good luck! _Would_ you like to get some flowers?”

Zane nodded.

“Follow me, then,” Jack said with a smile and trotted off on a slight tangent to their current course. _Just a little detour,_ Zane thought, _Ken will love the flowers... and he won’t even miss me as he doesn’t know I’m coming!_

Jack led Zane down a few streets until, lo and behold!, there appeared a little flower shop with brilliant blossoms lining its windows. Zane admired the displays for a minute and then eagerly opened the shop door to go in. He looked back.

“Won’t you come in?” he asked Jack.

Jack shook his head regretfully. “No, ‘fraid I can’t. Tried it once, but they shooed me out. Don’t like dogs, I guess.” He shrugged. “I’ll wait for you out here.”

Zane nodded. “I’ll be but a minute,” he said and disappeared inside.

 

Jack smirked wickedly to himself the minute Zane was gone. _Soooo easy,_ he thought. He immediately got up and started off in the direction of Trellis Street. He’d be paying Zane’s friend a little visit.

He travelled at a quick trot and was soon on the correct street, scanning the residential buildings. There were several possibilities as to where this Ken might live, but judging by what Zane had said about him, Jack would be checking the poshest building first. Across the street he went and down a block to the more affluent of the flats. A quick check of the names on the mailboxes revealed a Kenneth on the top floor, just as he’d suspected. No one was around, so up the stairs he went to number 12.

With another quick look around he sat up on his haunches and gently twisted the door handle, but it was locked. There would undoubtedly be a spare key hidden somewhere for Zane, he thought, and he began to search the landing for it. He lifted the mat – nothing there. In the window well? Nothing. Under the flower pot? Nope. _In_ the flower pot? Bingo. A small tarnished key was hidden under the leaves of the bush growing there. He shook his head. Silly, foolish people.

He fit the key into the lock and turned it. The mechanism caught and clicked open. He carefully replaced the key in the very same spot he’d found it, then opened the door and hurriedly went in, shutting and locking it again behind him.

He’d no sooner gone a dozen cautious steps into the flat when a congested, but gentlemanly voice sounded from a back room. “Zane, is that you?”

 

Back at the shop, Zane was having an impossible time deciding which flowers to purchase. It seemed that just when he’d found the perfect ones, some that were lovelier still would appear on a shelf further back in the shop. He continued browsing, hoping that his newfound friend wouldn’t get fed up and leave. He tried to hurry.

 

Jack mustered up his best imitation of Zane’s voice and answered the query. “Yes, it’s me. Stay where you are, I’ve brought you a surprise.”

“Are you alright, dear? You sound a bit husky,” Ken responded, “You haven’t caught my cold, have you?”

Jack winced. He thought he’d done a good imitation. He answered, trying even harder to mimic Zane’s tone, “I did, actually, but it’s not very severe.”

“Well, hurry up with that surprise then; the anticipation is killing me.”

Jack smirked. _You won’t want it half so much when you find out what it is_ , he thought to himself, and set about finding the tools he’d need.

He collected a long phone cord ( _we really don’t need a working phone anyway..._ ), thick pieces of cloth from the drapes and a big steak knife from the kitchen. Having gathered these up, he trotted on down the back corridor, carrying them in his mouth. He sniffed carefully outside each door and found the one that smelled most strongly of life, paused to set down his cargo just outside the room, and knocked on the frame of the partially closed door.

 

Ken smiled. His hunch had been right: that darling of a boy _had_ been planning something! He sat back against the pillows and waited for the surprise, wondering what it might be. Soon enough he heard a light tap on his door. “Come in,” he said with a pleased smile. His expression faded into alarm when something that was definitely not Zane walked into the room. It was a muscular, doggish creature with wicked yellow eyes and a gaunt face, a fat tarnished hoop earring dangling in an almost vulgar way from its left ear. Worst of all, it was clutching a knife in one of its grimy hands.

Ken sat up abruptly and the dog-creature flipped the knife in the air. “I can stick this in you in a moment. Don’t make any more sudden moves,” it (he?) threatened, “I’ve got your Zane in a bit of an uncomfortable position, and if ya want to see ‘im alive again, you’ll need to do as I say.”

“What do you want?” Ken blurted, “If it’s money—“

“Keep your mouth shut. You want to save him, don’t you?” Ken went silent. “I thought so. Now, I’ll need ya to hold real still for me...” the creature said, and dragged forward a few items that Ken hadn’t noticed before, having kept his eyes on the knife.

He protested when he realised what the phone cord was for, but finally acquiesced when the creature began talking about how horribly Zane could die if he were to give the word. He soon found himself bound at the wrists and ankles and anchored to the headboard, the knife point never far from his skin. As one last indignity, the dog-creature stuffed a piece of cloth in his mouth and gagged him, saying, “Can’t have you calling for help, now can we?” He grinned at Ken in an amused way and then announced, “Now we wait for the beautiful Zane to arrive.”

Ken went cold when he realised the terrible mistake he had just made.

 

Zane at last decided on a bouquet of flowers – white calla lilies to be exact. _He should appreciate a morbid joke_ , Zane thought with a smirk. He purchased the bunch and left the cool shop for the warmth outside, tucking the flowers into his bag with the wine. He looked up and down the street, but Jack was nowhere to be seen. _I guess he_ did _get bored waiting_ , Zane thought. _Pity. At least he was helpful. Perhaps we’ll meet again._

Zane then made his leisurely way towards Trellis Street, stopping now and again to admire a blooming window-box or to examine a shop display. When at last he reached Ken’s building, it was mid-afternoon.

 

He jogged energetically up the steps, found the key in the planter and opened the door, bounding in happily. He pushed the door shut behind him, dropped the key on the small entranceway table and called out, “Wake up, old thing; it’s your favourite blonde come to call!” When he received no answer, he shook his head, smiling. _He must be sleeping like a log. Poor bloke._

He shucked off his boots near the door and then headed down the hall towards Ken’s bedroom, wine and flowers in tow. He pushed the door open quietly, stepped in, and stared quizzically at the sight before him.

The blankets were piled high on the bed, and not an inch of Ken was to be seen beneath them, though he did appear to be under them somewhere. Zane had never seen him sleeping like that before and thought perhaps he had a high fever and was cold. He set his bag down next to the door and approached the sleeping form to tug back the covers and wake him up. As he stood next to the bed, he sensed movement in his peripheral vision and looked down, but he was an instant too late. His feet were jerked out from under him the next moment and he crashed hard onto the floor, hitting his head.

He hit his head hard enough to knock himself out for a few moments, and when he came around he was aware of a weight on his chest and something being done to his wrists. He opened his eyes to the sight of Jack sitting on top of him, putting the finishing touches on a tight knot that bound his wrists together. The dog-creature was holding a knife in his teeth, and he took it out when he’d finished the knot and said with a nasty smile, “Hello again, pretty one.”

Zane was stunned into silence. He could hardly believe his eyes. He cursed himself inwardly for being so trusting. Aloud, he managed to blurt out, “What have you done with Ken?”

Instead of answering Zane, Jack pressed the knife to his throat and commanded him to open his mouth. Zane fearfully did so and quickly found it stuffed with dusty cloth as the creature that he had been thinking of as a friend just a short time before gagged him.

Only after Zane’s mouth was full did Jack answer his question.

“He’s right up there,” Jack said casually, pointing over his shoulder with the knife at the bed. Zane noticed some movement amongst the blankets and heard a small noise emanate from within them.

“Don’t get excited, old man, he’s in good hands,” Jack admonished the moving form under the blankets. He punctuated ‘good hands’ by slowly stroking Zane’s thigh through his clothing. Zane flinched and felt a chill of fear run up his back as it dawned on him just what Jack was after. Jack paused at this point, however, and looked at Zane’s feet. “Can’t have those thrashing around, now can we?” he mumbled to himself. He was out of phone cord, but he quickly found a long dressing gown sash on a chair and began to bind Zane’s ankles with it, knife ever ready. Zane once attempted to kick him, but was rewarded for his efforts with a deep, painful gash in his leg.

Jack tied Zane’s legs tightly, but left about a foot of slack between his ankles, and then attached one of his feet to the nearest leg of the bed. He sat back and admired his handiwork for a moment, and then turned and hoisted himself up onto his hind legs, balancing by holding the edge of the bed. He grabbed a fistful of covers and yanked them back, so that Ken could once again be seen.

Ken stared in horror at a wide-eyed Zane, lying bound on the floor. “I want you to watch,” Jack informed him with a wicked sneer and then hopped back down to the floor. He grabbed Zane’s wrists and pulled them up above his head, swiftly attaching them to one of the legs of Ken’s heavy wooden dresser.

Zane, paralysed with fear and almost completely immobilised, began to tremble slightly as Jack circled him predatorily, yellow eyes roving up and down his prone form. From his vantage point on the floor Zane could see the red, pointed tip of Jack’s cock already sliding out against his tanned belly, and he turned his head away, feeling sick. He glanced up at Ken, who was struggling furiously against his bonds to no avail. Ken caught his eyes for a moment, a look of pain and guilt etched across his features, and then quickly moved his head so Zane could no longer see his face.

Zane jumped when he felt a rough hand slide under the satiny fabric of his dress, moving slowly up his leg. He squeezed his legs together and closed his eyes tightly; wishing Jack would just take what he wanted and be done with it. The hand moved up his thigh, caressing him unhurriedly till it reached his crotch.

“No underwear!” Jack exclaimed as he casually fingered Zane, “Naughty, naughty... I bet you and the old man were gonna get up to some hanky panky, eh? A little pederastic love?”

Now, besides feeling completely violated and humiliated, Zane was starting to feel very angry as well. He squirmed violently, trying to get Jack’s hands off of him, but Jack pressed the knife none too delicately into his ribs and ordered him to hold still. Zane saw a dark spot of blood well up and stain the cloth under the blade and stopped moving immediately, beginning to feel slightly faint with fear.

He vaguely heard Jack command him to turn over, and he did so without protest this time, Jack’s hands helping push him into position on his belly. Ken’s muffled cries of protest resounded in his ears as Jack pushed the dress up and out of the way and pried his legs open with a little persuasion from the knife. He felt the heat of another body pressing down against him and heard a whispered, “You’re all mine, now, beautiful,” just as

 

Hilda slid the pie into the oven. She’d decided to make a special treat for Mr. Upstairs, as he’d always been such a lovely neighbour to her. He had her over for tea every Thursday, and even helped her with her English. Best of all, he loved her cooking! She was always delighted to share her homemade goods with him now that she had no more children at home to feed.

She decided to try a new recipe, and was making a blueberry pie instead of the apple strudel she had contemplated earlier. She hoped it would turn out well, and sat down in her favourite easy chair to listen to the radio as she waited for the pie to bake. The German program she tuned in was a bit indistinct and crackly, and she herself was a little deaf, so she turned it up loud and sat with her ear close to the speaker.

 

Zane gasped with pain and tried to hold back tears as Jack fucked him, but the dog was merciless and he found himself crying into the carpet. Thankfully, it was only a few minutes before Jack finished and rolled off of him, panting heavily. He lay catching his breath for several minutes before seeming to notice Zane’s choked sobbing.

“It’s over, lovely, don’t cry,” he admonished Zane. “Now supper’s over, it’s time for dessert...”

Zane froze, terrified, waiting for the searing pain to start again, but realised what Jack meant when he heard the sound of bedsprings squeaking mixed with Ken’s garbled obscenities. He remained where he was on his stomach and tried to block the sound from his ears.

After a few more minutes, Jack finished with Ken and jumped down from the bed, clearly exhausted. He stumbled into a corner, collapsed, and promptly fell asleep.

Once Zane was sure he was really out, he wriggled onto his back again and tried to yank his feet free from the bed. The knots held tightly, though, and Zane at last gave up after ten minutes of furious effort. All the stress and fear and pain had drained him of his energy and he soon fell asleep as well.

 

Hilda awoke with a start when her head nodded to her chest, and then looked worriedly at the clock, hoping she hadn’t over-baked the pie. She relaxed when she saw that a few minutes still remained on the bake time – it was a smaller-than-average pie and would need considerably less time to bake than a regular-sized pastry. She half-listened to the radio announcer for a few minutes and then switched the radio off and rose a bit stiffly from her chair. One sniff of the air told her that the pie was indeed done and she hurried over to retrieve it from the oven. A glance confirmed what her nose had told her; the filling was bubbling a little through the golden-brown latticework on top of the pastry, giving off a most delicious sweet smell. Mr. Upstairs would surely love it.

Hilda put the pie on top of the oven to cool, removed her apron, and went to her bedroom to freshen her appearance. Looks in order, she returned to the kitchen, placed the pie, a knife, and several napkins on a wooden serving tray and exited her flat to make the trip upstairs. Carefully balancing the tray, she knocked on her neighbour’s door and waited patiently for an answer. None came.

She knocked again, a little louder this time, but after some minutes there was still no answer. She was a little puzzled, as Herr Pitt was always home at teatime, and if he planned to be elsewhere he always gave her a ring beforehand. She tried the doorknob, and found the door to be unlocked, which was very strange indeed.

As she made her way in her instincts told her that something was very wrong, so she set the tray down in the kitchen and crept quietly back to the bedrooms, knife in hand in case she met a burglar. She peeked into each room she came upon until she reached the one at the end of the hall. The scene spread in front of her here gave her a great shock.

 

Zane awoke to a loud exclamation of “Oh! Poor gerl!” and the sight of Frau Hilda swooping down at him. The woman staunchly refused to believe that he wasn’t female, despite assurances to the contrary from both Zane and Ken. She treated him much like a daughter and he played along most of the time.

Hilda swiftly untied his gag and asked him what had happened, her expression outraged. “Over there,” he whispered and moved his head to indicate the corner Jack was sleeping in. She turned her head to look and then arose, grimfaced and strode purposefully in Jack’s direction. Zane was unable to see most of what happened next, but he could hear it perfectly.

First, a stomping noise and a loud dog-like yelp, then Jack’s voice, pleading and terrified. Zane made out his last words, “No, no! _Please don’t!_ ” just before they were cut short. They were replaced with thrashing noises and a horrible wet gurgling sound, which gradually died away.

Once the thrashing had stopped, Hilda left the room momentarily and came back with a bedsheet from the linen closet. Zane listened as Hilda spread the cloth on the floor and then proceeded to heave something heavy onto it, letting the load drop with a sickening thud. Zane watched as she slowly lugged the sheet and its weighty contents out the door. He could make out Jack’s unmoving form through the fabric, and a huge red stain was spreading outwards from the creature’s neck, dripping onto the carpet.

This sight, compounded with the day’s other horrors, caused Zane to faint dead away.

 

* * * *

 

A week after their awful ordeal, Ken and Zane were still nervous and jumpy, and not too keen on being in Ken’s apartment. Still, Zane thought it best for them to try to go about their usual routine, so he rung Ken up and asked if they were to have tea on Thursday with Hilda. Ken thought it a good idea as well, so on Thursday Zane arrived at the flat to find Ken and Hilda waiting for him with a platter of Hilda’s links, as well as the usual sandwiches and cookies.

They sipped tea; laughed; joked; discussed the weather, music, and the latest English and German news. Zane was finally relaxing after a week of anxiety and it felt wonderful.

He reached for a link with his fork and took a bite.

“This tastes a bit different today, Hilda, did you use different spices?”

“No,” she said slowly, “I used different meat.”

Zane nodded and took another bite of the sausage. Suddenly he looked over at Ken. They both stopped chewing.

“FUCK!” Zane exclaimed and spat the meat all over his plate.

 

**The End.**

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS:  
> Non-con, violence, bestiality?, cannibalism?


End file.
